"Yes," I say. I'm not, not perfectly, but I need to tell myself that so I can steady myself. "I just thought about something from home." The gutted sheep lying in the road. The spray of blood on my face as that wretched piebald bit the terrier in two. The thought of what my parents must have looked like, if even anything was left.

And I'm thinking of cutting up meat to feed one of them?

I take a deep, cold breath and put my hands on the counter. "I'm not used to this. I will be."